Green Eyes and a Heart of Gold
by leighbenz9000
Summary: In which Annabeth loses stuff and Percy finds it (or steals it). Oneshot. Title credit to The Lone Bellow. Written for the prompt: "They go on a tour to another country & they find a little corner in the city they're exploring & have some kind of moment."


Written for the prompt: "They go on a tour to another country & they find a little corner in the city they're exploring & have some kind of moment."

* * *

_Traveler's Tip #42: Pickpockets are a common problem in European countries. While most instances of pickpocketing are not dangerous, petty theft occurs in crowded places, on public transportation systems, and inside airports. Travelers are advised to keep their belongings concealed and bags with a secure zipper or buckle to hold belongings while traveling are recommended._

"It might be useful to follow that advice," says a voice behind Annabeth, causing her to whirl around and hit an old lady who is sitting down in the head with her bag.

The old lady scowls at Annabeth and mutters something in French, shaking her fist angrily. Annabeth doesn't catch any of the words, but she can tell that she's saying some _not-so-nice_ things, and Annabeth is momentarily grateful that she didn't pay attention in seventh grade when the boys in the back of her French class decided to educate the other students on common French curse words.

Not like she still remembers any French at all, anyways.

"You looking for this?" the person says again, and Annabeth is able to match the voice with a human. She barely has time to register what he looks like before she notices that he's holding a cellphone in his hand. Her cellphone. The one that was in her back pocket.

"How did you get that?" she asks, narrowing her eyes and wondering if she'd be able to elbow him in the gut and snatch it out of his hand.

"It was in your back pocket," he replies, smirking. Annabeth meets his gaze and gives him the most menacing stare she can muster. His eyes level out hers for a brief second and a ripple of fear courses through her.

He has the most striking green eyes she has ever seen. They're piercing almost, but gentle at the same time. They're fascinating. Sparkling with mischief. She's pretty sure she could stare at them for a while and not be able to count all the different shades of green.

She blinks.

Slightly unshaven. Long, tussled hair. Big hands and broad shoulders. Maybe around her age.

Yep, she can take him.

Annabeth is contemplating smacking him over the head with her travel guidebook when he breaks her gaze to smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges. He laughs at the bewildered expression she imagines must be on her face, and hands her back the cellphone with an easy smile.

Her fear towards him quickly turns into resentment. She glowers at him, shoving the phone into her bag and taking a step backwards to put some distance between them, which causes him to smile even wider. She feels her cheeks burn of embarrassment and frustration.

"I'm not dangerous," he assures her, quickly taking the travel book out of her hands and leafing through the pages until he finds where she left off. "I simply suggest you keep your belongings in uhhh— here! '_A travel bag with a secure zipper or buckle.'_" He uses his fingers to make air quotes as he reads from the book, and Annabeth has to physically refrain from rolling her eyes.

She takes the book back and snaps it shut.

"I have no reason to believe you're not a thief or a murderer or a psychopath for all I know. If you could _please_ stop touching my stuff that would be really great."

He frowns at her.

"But… I was just doing you a favor."

"A favor?"

He smiles again, leaning against the metro pole and using his arms to talk animatedly.

"Stealing your stuff before someone else does," he states simply, as if that's the most reasonable answer he's ever heard.

"That makes no sense."

"It does."

"No, it doesn't."

"Look at it this way," he begins, pulling his bright orange backpack off his shoulders and showing her the intricate array of locks and zippers that keep his bag, Annabeth thinks, practically bomb-proof, "Would you rather have _me_ steal your stuff, or someone you don't know?"

She shakes her head in disbelief.

"We don't know each other."

"Well, we didn't," he clarifies. "But now we do. I mean, I did save your cellphone, after all."

She groans. "You make this sound like some heroic act."

He quirks an eyebrow at her. "Maybe it was. Maybe I saved your life. Maybe you'll get stuck on top of the Eiffel Tower at night or lost in the streets of Paris or maybe one of those biking-taxi people will peddle away with you. What if you don't have a cellphone for that?"

She chooses to disregard the tiny bit of truth in those ridiculous hypotheticals.

"You know, I should really call the police on you. You're freaking me out," Annabeth states, looking up at the screen to see when the next stop is.

Two minutes. She can stick this out for two more minutes.

"You don't know enough French to call the police," he replies cheekily, and Annabeth has the immediate urge to wipe the gloating grin off his face.

She pointedly opens her guidebook and turns to the section labeled _Important French Phrases_. His eyes remain on her, his smile unwavering and still as unnerving as it was a few minutes ago.

"Aidez-moi. Il y a un pickpocket," she reads, fidgeting under his scrutiny but grinning in satisfaction as a few heads turn her way.

The metro starts to slow, and a binging noise plays throughout the cabin to warn riders that the stop is approaching. With a hiss, the train shudders to a halt, and Annabeth ignores the fact that she is forced to lean slightly towards the stranger in order to keep her balance.

He sticks out her tongue at her. "I know French too. Je m'appelle—"

She turns on her heels before he finishes, vaguely hearing a name that sounds like _Peter Johnson_, before she's lost in the whirling Parisian crowd of black raincoats and umbrellas that reminds her for a fleeting moment of Peter's raven black hair.

* * *

She didn't expect to get this lost at the garden of Versailles. She had always been resourceful, on task, timely.

It doesn't help that the gardens are symmetrical, making her feel like she's walking in circles. She swears if she sees that swirly bush one more time she might scream.

It also doesn't help that she misplaced her map somewhere.

She sits down on a bench so she can search through her bag for her travel guide, hoping that it has a translation for '_Is there a map of the palace?'_ somewhere in the back.

'_Do you know any good restaurants?' _No. '_Where is the bathroom?' _Maybe in a few minutes. '_Where can I get a taxi?' _ She can use that as her last resort.

She closes the book and leans back against the bench, closing her eyes as the warm spring air hits her face. Annabeth feels someone sit down next to her and she shifts over to make room.

The person clears his throat, and Annabeth grimaces, wondering if she's still taking up too much space. She opens her eyes and nearly jumps out of her skin when she sees a familiar bright orange backpack that can only belong to one person in the entire world.

"I would have thought you'd have learned your lesson by now," he says conversationally, handing her a map.

_Her_ map.

She knows it's hers because it has a brown splotch from where she dripped chocolate ice cream on it.

Annabeth snatches it out of his hands and stomps off, refusing to acknowledge him.

"Hey—wait!" She hears him clamber to his feet and shuffle after her. She picks up her pace, seriously starting to wonder if he has been following her or something.

She grits her teeth as he catches up to her and matches his pace with hers.

"Just wait," he says, stepping in front of her and blocking her path. Annabeth tries to sidestep him but he holds out his arms and—curse the walkway for being so small. She thinks she could get by, but she'd have to touch him and… she shudders.

"I just want you to know that I'm seriously not dangerous. Or following you. And I'm sorry if I scared you. Just trying to be friendly." He shrugs and gives her a smile that's so impossibly bright that she diverts her gaze.

She stops trying to get around him and crosses her arms over her chest. Annabeth has to admit that he doesn't look dangerous—with his bright orange backpack and that annoying—_insatiable— _smile and limbs so big and floppy that he hardly knows what to do with them.

Maybe if she just plays along for a bit, at least until she can get away, then he'll stop bothering her. The chances of running into him three times in Paris are very unlikely.

She sighs and gives him a small smile. He looks relieved.

"I know. It's just weird that you keep finding me. And my stuff." Her expression turns back into a glare.

He holds his hands up in surrender.

"I know, I know. It's just that… I don't want anyone to, you know, hurt you or anything."

She snorts. He's trying to protect her.

_Is this even real life? _she thinks to herself.

"I don't need your help, thanks. Though you seem to have taken that job upon yourself."

He steps to the side and she brushes by him, not surprised when he keeps up with her.

"If you would just get a backpack like mine, then this wouldn't be necessary. My mom made sure mine is completely secure," he assures her.

"Does your mom also tell you to take other people's stuff?" she replies, rolling her eyes at his immaturity.

"Well," he begins, "she does say I have a heart of gold."

"Of course she does."

He's quiet for a few moments as he falls into step with her. She notices their feet are making a crunching sound on the ground in unison, and she changes her pace slightly so that their steps fall out of synch.

"So," Annabeth says, the quietness of their feet unnerving her slightly, "where are you from?"

"New York."

"That's funny, me too."

"What are you doing in Paris?"

"Spring break."

His arm brushes up against hers.

"Me too."

She hopes he doesn't think they're friends because of all these similarities.

"What school? You know—assuming you're in college and stuff…" Annabeth trails off.

"Columbia."

She allows a genuine laugh for the first time.

"Wow. I go there too."

He meets her gaze and his cheeks are slightly tinted pink.

"That's…" he clears his throat, "weird."

"Yeah," she agrees. "Weird."

"You have a nice laugh," he says, and when Annabeth turns to look at him he looks kind of shocked, his mouth still open, like he can't believe he just said that.

She contemplates teasing him about it, but decides to spare him the embarrassment and instead just says _thanks, _ignoring the way she maybe, slightly, _sort of_ doesn't want to run away from him anymore.

He's at least amusing. Fun to be around for the moment.

Their feet fall back into rhythm and Annabeth wonders if he does that on purpose. She doubts it—based on the way he keeps following her with the same sort of quirky confidence as when they first met. He just sort of falls into step.

They reach the end of the path and she sees a taxi station, surprised that she found it without even having to open her newly returned map.

Annabeth turns to him.

"It was nice meeting you, Peter Johnson."

He furrows her eyebrows at her.

"Je m'appelle Percy Jackson," he corrects her, giving her one of his signature lopsided grins.

"I'm Annabeth," she replies, giving him a sheepish smile as apology.

She holds out one of her hands and he looks at it for a long moment. Annabeth starts to pull back, slightly embarrassed that he didn't want to—

He meets her grasp and—wow— his hands are big and warm.

When he lets go, he uses his other hand to rub the back of his neck.

"Would it be weird if I gave you a hug?" he asks.

"Yeah, pretty weird," she concedes, watching his smile falter. The sight almost crushes her for some reason. "But I'll allow it."

Percy wraps his arms around her and his hug exudes the warmth and friendliness and Annabeth supposes it's just a _Percy_ thing.

She feels a pang in her chest, knowing that this is the last time they'll meet.

"You know," she says, making a snap decision and not believing the words that are coming out of her mouth, "I'm planning to go to the Louvre tomorrow. Wouldn't want to lose anything there."

Damn. That sounds flirty. Annabeth doesn't do flirty. Especially not with people she just met. People who follow her around in a foreign country and take her stuff.

Her heart certainly doesn't flutter as his big green eyes meet hers.

She doesn't watch the way his long lashes blink against his cheeks.

There's no way she smiles at the weird feeling that arises in the bottom of her belly.

"Stealing something from the Louvre," he grins. "My greatest challenge yet."

* * *

"I hate museums," he whines, jutting out his bottom lip and tugging on a stray curl that escaped her ponytail.

The gesture surprises her a little bit, but it's not uncomfortable. She has never gotten so close to someone in such a short amount of time, but there's nothing awkward about him or the way he acts. She doesn't shy away from his touch. In fact, she even likes it a little.

She brushes his hand away and goes back to admiring the artwork. The room is entirely quiet, serene, aside from Percy, whose constant complaining echoes off the walls.

"Shhh."

"But Annabeth… you've been staring at the same painting for five minutes. And we've already seen the Mona Lisa. Let's just get out of here."

She glares at him. It's becoming quite a tradition, the look she's giving him right now. She calls it her _Percy glare_, because it's not as hard as the glares she usually gives people. Annabeth doesn't think he could take that kind of glare. He's too gentle, too nice.

She clearly has been thinking about this too much.

"There's other artwork here besides the Mona Lisa. I didn't come all the way to France to see one painting."

His shoulders sag, and Annabeth feels _almost_ pity because he seems seriously distressed about this.

"You didn't have to come, you know," she says.

"But, you said you were coming here. And when you told me you were doing that thing where you bite your bottom lip. I can't say no to that; it's like I was forced."

She raises an eyebrow, an amused smile on her face.

"I don't do that."

"You do too."

"You act like you've known me for years."

"We've been in this museum for years."

She pats the top of his head sympathetically.

"Only a few more things to see."

He holds up a silver chain, and Annabeth's hand immediately goes to her neck where it was hanging just moments ago.

"I'm guessing you want this back," he says, and casually strolls out of the room.

She smiles, not even bothering to wonder how he got ahold of it without her noticing.

When he hears her footsteps behind him, he takes off running and Annabeth chases him all the way to the museum cafeteria.

* * *

"So tell me, Annabeth Chase, why you decided to come to France over spring break."

She sips her coffee and glances at him from across the table.

He takes a swig of some sickly blue soda that he insisted on getting, and she can't help notice how his actions always seem to mimic hers. Not in a bad way. They just do.

It's so easy, with him. Not forced.

"I'm an architecture major. Wanted to see the sights, the history, the buildings."

He wrinkles his nose. "All that stuff is great, but that's not why I came. The famous places are cool and impressive except the Mona Lisa, which is a lot smaller in person. But for me it's more about the overall experience. The magic. The people you meet." He winks at her.

Great. He's a poet too.

She feels a swell of affection for him, and the look he gives her makes her feel like her head is underwater. Because no matter how dopey he acts sometimes, she can tell he has a thoughtful mind, and even bigger heart.

"That makes no sense," she informs him.

"Maybe not to you."

And sure, there are a few other things that she wants to see in the museum, but Percy suggests that they go take a boat ride down the Seine. That isn't scheduled until day five of her itinerary, but suddenly it seems to her like the best idea in the world.

* * *

The trip continues like that over the next week; Annabeth tells Percy where to meet her the next day and he always shows up.

He picks up her bag when she forgets it at their table at a restaurant.

He retrieves her wallet when it falls out of her hands.

He gives her a few euros when she doesn't have enough to buy chocolate ice cream.

He then steals a few licks of that chocolate ice cream.

One time, he even catches her hand when it falls limply to her side. She feels instant panic because—_oh my god he's holding her hand, what if it's sweaty?_—but she's reassured when he doesn't let go.

He's always there. Not as obtrusive or annoying or obnoxious as she originally thought. But there. And Annabeth would never tell him, but she sort of agrees with what he told her. Sure, the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe would have been spectacular on their own.

But _maybe, _just _maybe—_and she hasn't made up her mind yet—it's the person she experienced them with that made all the difference.

So maybe on the last day of her trip she writes her phone number on a post-it note and leaves it on her backpack where she knows he'll find it.

He's one thing she's determined not to lose.

(Even though he wouldn't let her lose him, anyways.)


End file.
